


the world was on fire (and no one could save me but you)

by fathomless, loverosie



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Class Differences, Dystopian World, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 00:21:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13399431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fathomless/pseuds/fathomless, https://archiveofourown.org/users/loverosie/pseuds/loverosie
Summary: “Fuck the system, right? You wanna bring it down, and so do I. Our reasons don’t matter,” she watched as he stopped in his tracks, turning his head to the side. “It’s all a load of bullshit, you know it and so do I. But we need each other, Bellamy. What we’re trying to accomplish, it can only be done together.”“I’m listening.” He turned to face her again.“You have power over the masses and I have political influence. Combined, we’d be unstoppable.”“Okay then, Princess. Looks like we have a deal.”--OR, a soulmate AU where a brutal system decides your fate. Together, they work to destroy it, and maybe find love in each other despite the system along the way. Loosely based off of Black Mirror episode Hang the DJ.





	the world was on fire (and no one could save me but you)

_17 Years Ago_

 

_“Mommy, did people ever have a choice in who they loved?” Bellamy asked his mother one night as they lay in bed. Every night before he fell asleep, she told him tales of old times, back when everyone could see color with no inhibitions and before the mean people took over. He pulled the blanket up to his chin, rolling over to face her._

_“Bellamy, sweetie, mommy’s tired. Why don’t we save it for another night and I’ll tell you all about it?” She brushed his hair out of his eyes, stifling a yawn as she let her head hit the pillow. He frowned, not wanting to take no for an answer._

_“But you tell me a story every night, I just wanna hear this one,” He held a finger up signaling the number, as if she could see it in the dark of the room. “Please? Octavia’s asleep and you don’t work tomorrow.” She sighed, and he knew he had won her over._

_“Just this one, Bellamy,” she whispered, and then began the tale he would dream about for years to come. “A long time ago, everyone could see in color. You know that part, don’t you, my sweet boy?” He nodded against her shoulder, signaling for her to continue. “These people, their society wasn’t like ours. They could see in color because they didn’t have the special square in their head that determined whether they could or couldn’t. And yes, they had a choice in who they fell in love with. They were allowed to find the person who held the other half of their soul all on their own.”_

_“Then why don’t we?” He questioned, engrossed in the story, curiosity taking over._

_“I’ll get to that part, don’t worry,” she assured him. “Our government was too corrupt at one point.”_

_“What’s that mean?” He questioned._

_“Well, it means that they had too much power and weren’t doing good things with it.” At his nod, she continued. “People grew tired of it and began to rebel, causing wars all across the country. The world, even. The government didn’t like them rebelling and tried to stop it. People lost their families, their homes. They lost their lives until only a hundred people remained. You know this part, Bell.” He smiled. He did know this part._

_“Those hundred people were left with no leader. It was chaos until a man brought the burden of leadership onto himself, creating our nation. He decided that controlling everyone’s lives, including who our soulmates are, would limit the problems we faced, and because most of those people were part of the previous government or the upper class, thinking it would benefit them, they agreed. That was silly of him to decide, wasn’t it?” He should’ve been tired, but as she continued on, he found he was only more awake._

_“He shouldn’t have done that.”_

_“No, he shouldn’t have. With the help of his friends, 8 people including himself, they created a council to decide how to determine everyone’s soulmate, and how people were to find out who their soulmate was. That’s when they decided that one way to do so was by creating the color square, or what big people call a microchip, that’s right here,” she rubbed her finger along a spot on the nape of his neck, and he suppressed a shiver at the feel of her hand._

_The temperature in their home was always much too cold, but with the amount of points his mother earned daily, they couldn’t afford to keep the heat on, which meant they had to bundle up._

_Often, he found himself sacrificing his blankets and extra clothing to Octavia, his little sister. She was only a baby, but his mom had told him looking after her was his responsibility, which he took seriously. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her, not if he could help it._

_“What it does is inhibit your sense of color until the moment you see the person the system’s decided is your soulmate. When you do, all of the colors come to life, and it’s a feeling like no other. With this little square came a bunch of rules, though, Bellamy. They decided to call them the Eligius Order, after the man who invented the system.” He watched in the low lighting as his mother swallowed, closing her eyes for a moment._

_“What are the rules?”_

_“The person deemed your soulmate is who you have to fall in love with, and only them.” She spoke softly. “And they also have to be from your social class, no intermingling of classes allowed.”_

_“But that’s not fair, they can’t decide who we love,” he spoke, voice louder than intended. His eyes trailed over to the bundle on the other side of the room, who he found was still sleeping soundly._

_“Shh, my boy,” his mother quieted him, wrapping her arms around him. “It isn’t right, I know, but we can’t do anything about it.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “Your sister, because she has to stay a secret, she doesn’t have the microchip like you and I do, meaning she’ll never see color regardless. You know why your sister has to stay a secret, don’t you?”_

_“Because Octavia’s dad wasn’t your soulmate,” he mumbled._

_“That’s right, and you know what happens if they find her, too.”_

_“You get taken away.”_

_“Not just taken away, Bell.”_

_“Executed,” he whispered, barely audible. His mother rubbed circles along his back, and in the silence of the room, his eyes began to droop. Before he fell asleep, though, he let his mother know, “I’m gonna find my soulmate one day, whether the system says so or not. I’ll get to see you and Octavia in color, and the sky and the trees, too.”_

_Despite noticing the system had its flaws, he still had hope it would lead him in the right direction, Aurora noted as she lay beside him._

_What Bellamy didn’t notice, though, was how the light his mother’s eyes once held had slowly faded away with time, or how each day she seemed to grow more and more tired; of work, of the system, of life in general._

_He didn’t notice the bags under her eyes or the way she seemed to be constantly losing weight._

_He didn’t notice the quiet rebellions among the lower class that only seemed to be growing louder, echoing the movements of The 100 from the early days of the Eligius Order._

_And though he knew some parts of it were wrong, the hope within his young self didn’t allow him to see how truly corrupt the system was, either._

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

 

 **_FUCK THE SYSTEM_ ** **.**

Bellamy dropped the spray can, looking over his creation proudly. Among the pristine marble of the building stood an act of rebellion.

That, however, wasn’t his only act.

Looking down at his ragged clothing, beginning to tear at the seams from years of use and unrelentlessly dirty despite how hard he scrubbed, he noted that among the other people in the upper end of town with their esteemed fashion and lifestyles not plagued with worry, he was a black sheep.

“Bellamy, come in.” A voice sounded through the radio attached to his belt. Rolling his eyes, he picked it up, pressing the button on its side.

“What is it this time, Miller?”

“We have a problem.”

“You don’t say.” He replied, tone disingenuous. He rolled his eyes. With them, there was always a problem.

“Shut it, Blake. You need to get outta there as soon as you can, someone must’ve spotted you and reported it to the guards.” Bellamy waited for him to continue with bated breath, looking over his shoulder cautiously. “They’re headed your way from the east end now.”

“Did you guys even try to stop them?”

“Of course we did, but you know how that usually goes,” he muttered. “Does it really matter how we tried to stop them? You have five minutes to get the hell out of there,” he urged. Bellamy shook his head, leaning down to pack his things into a bag and slinging it onto his right shoulder.

“Yeah, well, fuck you. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Fuck you, too, Blake. We’ll be at your place, be careful.”

“Will do.”

He took one last look at the words on the wall before turning away. Walking through the courtyard in the middle of the neighborhood, he tried to blend in as much as possible. _Breath even, steps easy, hands at his sides._ If he could blend in enough to escape these parts, he’d be in the clear. If stopped, he’d explain that he got turned around on his way home from work, which wasn’t unusual for people not from this part of town. He could run, of course, but running only made him seem more suspicious, which he’d know, seeing as he’d tried it a few times before.

It hadn’t worked out so well.

At this point, he had a routine.Years of venturing throughout the city had allowed him to discover shortcuts and safer route, but his personal favorite, as well as his safest bet, was the abandoned tunnels.

He remembered his mom telling him stories of the times before the system, and how people traveled via underground trains. Or subways, was it? She explained to him once that when the rules became stricter and their world became smaller due to the Eligius Order, those subway systems were left unused, leaving behind a labyrinth beneath their world that pieced it all together.  

He found them by mistake once, when he was twenty and on the run, desperate to escape the guards on his trail, and has used them ever since.

Reaching the passageway on the abandoned outskirts of the upper end of town, it was obscured by the overgrowth of plants due to decades of neglect. He reached into his bag to find a light, pulling the hood of his jacket off of his head and combing his fingers through his hair in an attempt to push it out of his eyes.

He noted the sounds of water leaking, the signs on the walls beginning to fall apart. Once vibrant reds and blues, yellows and greens were now muted versions of the colors. He guessed color shouldn’t matter at all anymore, though, considering the fact that most people couldn’t see it.  
  
  


“What took you so long? We were starting to get worried.” Octavia asked, pulling him into a hug as he walked through the door a while later.

“It’s been,” he glanced at the clock on the wall. “thirty minutes since I talked to Miller, and I told him I’d be here in twenty.” He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, dropping the bag from his shoulder and taking a seat in front of the couch, otherwise occupied by Raven and Gina.

“Thought we would have to send out the bloodhounds looking for you, Blake,” the former spoke, laughing at his expression.

“Yeah, yeah. Ten minutes is nothing. Remember that one time Murphy and I were stuck hiding and were over an hour late?” Miller said, grabbing the bowl of popcorn Octavia had just obtained.

“Yeah, but no one cares about you guys,” she took it back with a sneer.

Bellamy watched them bicker, shaking his head. He usually tried to join in, but tonight wasn’t the night. He was tired, sore from a combination of work and his other ventures throughout the city.

Every time he visited the upper end of town, he returned home with more disdain for the prestigious than he had previously had. For them, everything was easy. Meanwhile, those from his part struggled to get by on a daily basis.

It wasn’t fair.

But then again, nothing about the system was fair.

“Did you get it done?” Gina tapped his shoulder, breaking him out of his thoughts.

_Did he get it done._

“What do you think?” He arched an eyebrow, turning his attention back to the tv in the corner of the room. She shook her head.

“Someone’s grumpy,” she remarked, laughing.

“Not grumpy, that was just a stupid question. I always get it done.”

He recalled meeting Gina a few years back. The moment he spotted her, his world, which was previously devoid of the rainbow, become alight with color. Despite his faith previously lost and his hatred buried against the system, he had found it again momentarily, thinking he could see a future with her.

And although they tried to make it work, after months of being together and nearly every night spent getting to know each other in the most intimate of ways, they decided to stop trying to force a connection that simply wasn’t there.  


Besides, Gina had Raven, whom she loved. Even after months of trying to get over her and forcing herself to have feelings for Bellamy, she found she was drawn back to the girl she had grown up with; the person she deemed her soulmate regardless of what anything else said.

So much for the system always being right about soulmates, huh?

He hadn’t believed in the system since his mom died and he became all too familiar with the harshness of reality, anyway.

If anything, it was bullshit.

A familiar alarm sounded from the TV’s speaker, causing various noises of protest to fill the room.

“What the hell is it gonna be this time?” Miller sunk further down into his seat.

A familiar logo appeared on the screen, and along with it, a group of familiar faces. The eight council members, along with their prospective families, stood on stage, as they did each time there was an announcement.

“Good evening, citizens.” He tuned out at the sound of the man’s voice, knowing whatever it was, it either wasn’t good or was something he simply wouldn’t care about. It wasn’t like they could change the channel, anyway.

His eyes traced across the screen, taking into account each of the members with their expensive jewelry and clothing displaying only the brightest of colors, faces plagued with looks that screamed, ‘we control you,’ or in most of their cases, also, ‘we’re better than you.’

And, in a sense, they were.

Compared to the people in the room with him, his people, with their tattered clothing and dirt-scattered faces, hair that hadn’t been washed in days due to meager water rations, those people looked like they came from a different world.

He supposed they did. And he hated them for it.

 _Fuck them_ , he thought. And their soulmate bullshit, and the fact that people like him were stuck in the lower neighborhoods and the lowest of the social classes, with no hope of escaping.

After all, soulmates couldn’t be from different classes.

The children of the council members were no better than them, with their bright smiles, clean hair and clothes that matched their parents, smiling as if they deserved the right to be up there, all carbon copies of each other.

His eyes scanned across the screen, focusing in on each person only to move on with even more disdain, until he found himself intrigued with one in particular.

On stage, beside councilwoman Abby Griffin stood a girl, presumably her daughter, looking unlike any of the others. With blonde hair flowing down past her shoulders, clad in a dress that he could consider plain among the others, Clarke Griffin looked, very simply, unimpressed.

Although there was a slight smile plastered on her face, there was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she’d rather be anywhere but there at the moment. He didn’t blame her. And although she blended in with the group physically, he couldn’t help but feel as though she didn’t belong there.

The Griffins had always been well known, and fairly disliked, too, as one of the most prestigious families. Abby and Jake had been council members since they were young, before they welcomed their daughter, Clarke, and were the seemingly perfect family until last year when Jake Griffin was executed on charges that violated the Order. All anyone knew was that he broke a law, and though various rumors swirled - some much worse than others - no one was really sure.

He didn’t have an idea as to why, because he was sure her life was much better than his, but he almost felt sorry for her.

As time passed, he tried to move his eyes away from her, but still found himself stuck.

That was, until the TV turned off, signaling the end of the broadcast.

“--- ridiculous, huh, Bellamy?” He heard Octavia speak and broke his gaze away from the blank screen, shaking his head to reorient himself.

“Yeah,” he spoke, voice hoarse. “whatever. Fuck the system, right?”

_Yeah, fuck the system._

 

* * *

 

_Fuck the council and the parties that were only an excuse to showcase their wealth._

If one more person offered her another glass of champagne, she was going to choke herself with the pearls around her neck.

Or maybe, perhaps, the person who offered her the glass instead.

Clarke looked among the crowds of people with disinterest, glancing down at her watch a sixth or possibly twentieth time. At this point, she had lost count of how many times she’d checked it throughout the night.

 _When will this shit be over?_ She thought to herself, glaring at any passing party attempting to start a conversation with her.

She had reluctantly agreed to going to this event for her mother because _yes, Clarke, appearances do account for a good reputation,_ and no excuse she came up with to not attend was worthy enough. If it were up to her, she’d be at home rather than plagued with the company of others she didn’t care for. They were only interested in talking about their wealth and how amazing the system was, or how they knew multiple people who had found their soulmates in the past week.

She could imagine her perfectly made bed waiting for her at home then, the grey lines twirling among the sheets that came together to create into a flower with bright shades of red and yellow adorning it. She guessed the colors of it didn’t matter in the end, anyway, though, since she was unable to see them.

(That didn’t stop her from imagining their appearances, however. Sometimes, she would lay in bed and close her eyes, trying to picture a shade that wasn’t black, white, grey or any various shades of those colors. She dreamed for the day she would finally see a color aside from these lackluster shades, a baby blue or a neon orange. Or, maybe, a color that she didn’t even know existed.

Clarke Griffin wasn’t a patient person. In fact, she was known for being rather impatient. But she couldn’t decide if she wanted the day she met her soulmate to be soon, or if she would rather wait for the day that would come sometime in the far future.

Seeing color was a price, she understood. With color it brought along a soulmate, but a soulmate was one thing did not have a desire nor wish for.

She probably never would.)

Listening to the council pretend to care for the lower classes made her sick. Throughout the crowd around her, she could hear pieces of conversations discussing the poor conditions about the other part of town. However, none of them ever mentioned a solution or a want to fix any of it. If anything, it seemed like they were putting the lower classes at fault for their own circumstances.

There were always the conversations of _oh, poor things, that is so terrible. Something has to be done for them, I’m tired of seeing the poor on the streets constantly begging for change. Seriously, is it that hard to get a job?_ all around her.

The council, or anybody in that group, would create a facade of generosity and compassion but they wouldn’t dare get their fingers dirty, wouldn’t bear a single scratch. Their normal conversations ranged from talking about politics (oh, bullshit politics) to bragging about their wealth.

God, she resented them all. And the worst part was, she was a part of them. Unlike them, however, she had brain cells.

If anybody looked closely, if they paid attention to the little details in the picture, they would notice all of the flaws in the system.

The Eligius Order was just a facade for the government; created for them to gain control of the people’s minds, making them their puppets.

Seriously, they put a microchip inside them. Did no one ever try to stop the operation and say, “Hey, does anyone else think something seems fucked up about this?” Or, were brain cells also a rare commodity back then, too?

There must have been some rejections with the order; the council was deciding people’s fates. There should have been a handful of people against it. She knew of the riots before the Order, and those with The 100 that occurred years after its creation. But when it was being created, why did no one speak out against it?

Maybe society had always been corrupt, she noted. People had just never looked up and realized how flawed everything, especially the system, actually was.  


Instead, they waited patiently at their windows for their soulmates, not living their life as their own because all they craved was to see color, and maybe the person deemed their other half, as well.

It was not their life anymore. It was the council’s.

One thing she did know was that she had it better than most, seeing as she was the daughter of one of the council’s members. Simply put, she lived the riches while others lived the rags. Clarke knew that, so why did that not save her father in the end?

They had all the money, all of the (at least a healthy amount) brain cells anybody would wish for, and the ranking. That, however, didn’t save her father from his death in the end. No, no, they locked him away and, later, executed him.

She lived a life of luxuries, but there was no amount of money or prestige that could bring her father back from the grave.

“Clarke.” Clarke jolted out of her thoughts, turning her head towards the direction the voice came from.

“Yes, Abby?” Clarke asked snarkily, rolling her eyes as Abby walked up to her, a man Clarke thought looked somewhat familiar in tow behind her.

Abby blatantly ignored her daughter addressing her by her name and pointed to the man beside her. “Clarke, this is my, um, colleague Marcus Kane,” she spoke stiffly, in her councilwoman voice, Clarke liked to refer to it as. “We’ve known each other for years. We actually met around the time I got married to your father.”

Clarke caught the stumbling of her mother’s words easily, eyeing them suspiciously. “Around the time you married dad?” She chose her words carefully, speaking slowly, pettily ignoring Marcus’ attempt to shake her hand by adjusting the falling strap on her dress.

“Yes, around that time, Clarke.” She could feel the disappointment within her mother’s words but couldn’t bring herself to care. After everything, Abby did not have the right to talk about her father.

“How about the time when you got dad killed, Abby? Were you guys in contact then?” Clarke glared at her mother, her voice rising a few octaves.

“Clarke,” Abby warned.

“Oh, yeah. _Clarke, what_ ? _I’m sorry for turning in your father,”_ She shrugged whilst trying to keep her voice steady. “ _It had to be done, though. Clarke, you have to try to understand. And oh, by the way, this is the man I’ve been fucking since your father’s execution!_ ” Clarke’s voice was louder than the crowd around them, and her skin began to burn at the feel of people watching her, likely judging her despite their ignorance about the situation.

 _Good_ , she thought disgustedly, pointedly ignoring her embarrassment, _let them see how terrible my mother is_. However embarrassed she was, councilwoman Griffin was likely much more so.

“Clarke, right now is not the time and place to—”

“Oh, fuck you, _mother_. It’s never the right time and place with you. Will it ever be?” She took a breath, meeting her mother’s gaze. Eyes filled with tears, mouth agape, she was likely mortified. “If not at dad’s funeral, then how about my own? Does that work for you?” Clarke angrily wiped at her tears spilling down her cheeks, her throat raw with the pain she’d been pushing aside for ages.

“When we will get to talk about the past year, huh? Because as far as I’m aware, we haven’t talked to each other like actual fucking humans for months.” She was aware, at this point, she had the attention of everybody in the room, which had suddenly gone silent. Marcus apologized to the people around them quietly, trying to better the situation, while Clarke and Abby only continued to glare at each other.

“Clarke, please, I need you to calm down,” she urged, stepping closer to her. “People are watching—”

“Oh, shut the _fuck_ up, mom,” she interrupted once more, not caring about the people around, not about her mother, nor the council. Reputations be damned. She only cared about one thing, which was her late father. “I don’t give a damn about the people around us, mother, I care about dad. Do you even remember him?” She questioned. If she did, it didn’t seem like it. “Because I do. I remember everything,” her voice cracked.

“Him holding my hand as I fell off the pink bike you both had gotten my for my birthday that year. I was just learning how to ride, and the first time I fell, he was the one there to catch me. Not you. I remember him teaching me how to paint, taking the time to point out what colors went together even though he knew I couldn’t see them,” Clarke continued to list the memories she had of her father while Abby stared at her, speechless either from blind rage or lack of knowing how to respond.

“But you? You don’t care! He’s dead, and suddenly everything about him is gone from our lives, too. You took down his paintings, you gave away his clothes, you sold your wedding ring on internet, for Christ’s sake. It’s as if he was never existed, mom. He’s just a ghost now!” Clarke’s chest was burning, her heart in her throat, and she  figured she must looked insane to the people around her, but she was so tired. She was tired of ignoring the elephant in the room, and tired of crying over the loss of the one parent, _person_ , who truly loved her.

“And now you,” She pointed at Abby accusingly, voice tired. “You found a replacement for him!” She then did the same to Marcus. “What, did he suddenly show you his money and talk about weddings, the most prestigious one you could imagine having? Or, maybe a child that’s not disappointing, all the while he fucked you in the bed you shared with _dad_ ,” her voice cracked at the last word.

God, she was so tired.

“You know what? I’m done, screw this,” Clarke held her hands up hysterically, then picked up her purse. “Screw you, screw them, screw the system! In fact, screw all of you.” She gestured outward at the crowd, her cheeks wet and her heart a little more than broken.

In the silence of the room, as she met her mother’s eyes again, she stood her ground, determined. “I’m leaving,” she started, quieter than before. “Don’t follow me, Abby. Don’t send anyone else after me, either. I’m not sure I ever want to see you again, so just - leave me alone.”

“Clarke,” Abby begged, tears streaming down her face as well.

 _Good_ , Clarke thought, _now she has an idea of how I’ve felt all this time._

Clarke turned away and grabbed the nearest glass of champagne on a serving plate, quickly drinking its contents, her throat burning. “Screw all of you and your damn system, too.” She added firmly, voice barely loud enough for everyone to hear, before turning and beginning towards the exit, leaving not only her mother, but the rest of the room, in shock.

Halfway to the door, in her rush, she took off her heels, feeling as though they’d only slow her down.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins, the frigid cold of the wind deterring the rush she felt inside her, making her feel numb.

As if everything wasn’t falling apart before, that was when it all came crashing down.

She let out a sob, hand reaching blindly for purchase to steady herself. No longer feeling anger, she slid to the ground, leaning back against the cool marble of the wall behind her.

The anger had left, now replaced with sadness.

The world around her was a blur as Clarke continued to cry. Chest heaving, head buried in her hands. Everything aside from the sobs leaving her had become background noise. She curled herself around the length of her dress, the piercing wind making contact with her unprotected skin. She only then realized that, in her haste to leave, she had failed to pick up her coat.

 _Just my fucking luck_ , she thought to herself as she continued to cry, attempting to wipe at her eyes.

Clarke had been accustomed to loneliness her whole life, and at one point started viewing it as an armor, a protector.

In that moment, however, she felt like it was her worst enemy.

Too blinded by tears and seemingly oblivious to her surroundings, she missed the footsteps in the distance, not noticing the figure walking towards her.

She sniffed, looking up to the person standing before her, tears freely streaming down her pale cheeks, reddened by the harshness of the night’s events.

“I thought I said for no one to come after me,” she spoke, voice frail.

 

* * *

 

“Not too sure what you said, considering I wasn’t there. You alright?” The girl in front of him looked, in a word, broken. And although his head was screaming at him to leave her alone and let her be in peace, he couldn’t help but go against it.

She nodded in response to his question, but he knew she wasn’t.

“Can I sit?” He asked, gesturing to the ground beside her. She looked at him skeptically.

“Does it really matter what I say in response to that? I’m sure you will anyway.” She shook her head, rolling her eyes as a few more tears managed to escape, running down her face.

Something about her was familiar, for some reason, but he couldn’t place the reason as to why.

He took a seat beside her, putting enough space between them so as not to make it uncomfortable. Beside him, she stared straight ahead, fidgeting slightly.

“What do you want?” She hiccuped, looking over at him. His mouth turned upward in a sardonic smile.

“In life? A lot of things. From you, though? Nothing in particular,” he shrugged, taking into account the smile that graced her features for a brief moment. “Saw a damsel in distress, figured I could do my good deed for the day.”

“Yeah, well, consider the deed done. You can go at anytime now, I won’t mind.” She shivered slightly, curling in on herself as another burst of cold air came through.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay. You don’t just walk by a girl having a mental breakdown and continue walking. Unless, of course, _you_ do. I, for one, don’t.” She nodded at that, facing forward again, and he assumed she was done talking.

The two of them sat frozen in silence while the city around them was roaring with life. That was, until she spoke again.

“My mom,” she paused, taking a breath. He turned his head towards her, watching as she clenched and then unclenched her fists. “she’s the reason my dad’s dead. Last year, he- anyway, what he did isn’t important. I don’t even know what he did, really. But she turned him in to the council knowing what would happen.” He saw new tears begin to fall, and for a moment, he could feel her pain.

He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining himself when he was in the girl’s place, having just lost his mom when he was about her age.

“And the worst part is, it’s like she doesn’t even care that she’s the reason he’s dead. She got rid of his things within the first two weeks he was gone, sold her wedding ring on some website, never talks about him anymore,” He nodded, understanding the loss all too well. “Tonight, she even had the nerve to introduce me to her colleague, who I’m pretty sure she’s been fucking for the past year if the way they looked at each other and her stumbling over her words was any indication. It’s just like- like he never existed to her or something, and I don’t- I don’t” Her breathing grew more rapid, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Hey, calm down, it’s okay,” he tried comforting her, but only seemed to make things worse. She shook her head in response, trying to calm herself but only seeming to make things worse. “Look at me.”

In response to her resistance, he took her hand gently in his, squeezing it slightly. She turned her head towards him.

He noticed that, although still crying, breath coming shallowly, she seemed to be beginning to calm down. “I’m Bellamy,” he whispered, smiling slightly in an effort to comfort her as she grabbed onto his hand. She returned his smile, nodding. The hand not in his came up to wipe at her eyes yet again.

“Clarke,” she responded.

And suddenly it clicked.

She was the girl he had watched on TV earlier that week.

Clarke Griffin, daughter of council members Abby and Jake Griffin, the latter who was executed last year for going against the Order. He mentally kicked himself for not realizing sooner from the fragments of the story she told. Suddenly the pity he had felt for her earlier had banished, beginning to replace itself with disdain. And despite the way he had felt drawn to her as he watched her stand uncomfortably amongst the others onscreen, he couldn’t help but recoil, slipping his hand out of hers. 

He couldn’t feel sorry someone like her, not when there were people who led lives much worse.

“What’s-” She whispered as her gaze dropped to their hands, no longer intertwined.

“I see now,” he interrupted, quiet.

“See what? What are you talking about?” She questioned. He could sense the confusion in her voice.

“I see that you’re nothing but a spoiled little rich girl trying to rebel against her mother. One who doesn’t see how good her life is compared to the people below her, am I right?”

He watched as the expression of hurt on her face evolved into one of anger, and he couldn’t help but feel his own do the same. Jaw clenched, he looked away from her.

“Where the hell do you get off trying to tell me who I am? You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh, but I know your kind, Claire, was it? You’re all the same privileged asshoes who don’t care about anyone but yourselves.” He stood from his spot beside her against the wall, not bothering to knock any dirt off of his clothing as he began to walk away. He wanted out of there as soon as possible. He needed to get back home to Octavia, anyway.

“It’s _Clarke_ , actually,” she corrected him, attempting to stand, nearly tripping over her dress. Once finding her footing, she followed after him, grabbing his shoulder to turn him around as she came close. “And for the record, you don’t know me regardless of what you think you know, Bellamy. Quit acting like you do.” She took a step closer to him, not quite putting them chest to chest, but close enough.

Despite his resistance to her, he couldn’t help but smile.

“Getting brave now, are we, Princess?”

“I don’t know, are we? Seems to me like you’re the brave one, considering there are sketches of you plastered around the city yet you’re still brave enough to venture out.” He froze. “I may be color blind, but I can still see.”

She was right. The sketches, posted about in neighborhoods throughout various areas of the city, displayed him as a wanted man. When anywhere but his home neighborhood, he was forced to disguise himself. For his own safety, for his sister’s safety, for the rebellion’s safety.

A chill ran through him, though this time it wasn’t from the cold.

He realized, then, that his fate was in her hands. Everything he had worked for, all he had done, could come crashing down in a matter of minutes if she were to alert the guards, or worse, one of the council members, of his whereabouts.

“What do you want in order to keep quiet?” He asked, fighting to keep his voice steady. Her brow furrowed in confusion, and she shook her head.

“I didn’t-”

“I can,” he hesitated, knowing there wasn’t much he could offer. But then memories of his mother floated through his mind. He remembered how she sold her body for favors to make ends meet when they were younger, and how at times, he had felt the need to do the same. “I can make you feel good.” He took a step towards her, taking her hand in his and intertwining their fingers, same as he had earlier. Their eyes met, and he watched as the question in her mind quickly turned into an understanding.

His thumb rubbed circles into the back of her hand as she gaped up at him, beginning to shake her head. A sad smile graced her features momentarily before being replaced by a determined look.

 

* * *

 

 

“Wait, are you propositioning me for sex right now?” Clarke looked up at Bellamy in a state of a shock, vile building up in her throat.

Bellamy nodded, a soft smile gracing his features as he brought his hand up to push back a stray piece of hair that had fallen into her face.

Clarke pulled her hand away quickly, as if she got burnt. “So you decide to walk up to a crying girl and decide _oh, let me take advantage of her emotional state and fuck her so she won’t tell anybody who I am_?!’” She stared at him in disgust, shaking her head.

“No, I just-” he dropped his hand, looking away and then back at her. “I don’t have anything else to offer you, I didn’t know what else to say.”

In that moment, she almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

It was a good thing she wasn’t asking for much, anyway.

“What I want from you is something I know that you _can_ offer me, though,” she began. “I want in.” At the skeptical look he gave, she continued. “Let me in on the rebellion, and we can call ourselves even. I’d like to help.”

“Forget it,” he scoffed. She crossed her arms, continuing to stare at him. He tilted his head back, looking at the night sky in anguish. “What? I let you in, it turns out to be some elaborate scheme all along, and everything goes to hell? We all end up dead, except for you, because your mom’s place on the council? I don’t need your bullshit, Princess. Take your mommy issues elsewhere,” he finished, crossing his arms in defiance.

She watched as he turned on his heel to go a few moments later, and then it hit her.

“Fuck the system, right? You wanna bring it down, and so do I. Our reasons don’t matter,” she watched as he stopped in his tracks, turning his head to the side. “It’s all a load of bullshit, you know it and so do I. But we _need_ each other, Bellamy. What we’re trying to accomplish, it can only be done together.”

“I’m listening.” He turned to face her again.

“You have power over the masses and I have political influence. Combined, we’d be unstoppable.”

She watched as he considered the offer, looking anywhere but directly at her. Seconds felt like hours and then he nodded slowly, his eyes snapping back to meet hers, voice rough as he spoke.

“Okay then, Princess. Looks like we have a deal.”

She fought back a smile as she reached out her hand, patiently waiting for him to accept.When he did, slowly but surely, she couldn’t help but let said smile break free, feeling a moment of relief as he did the same.

_They had a deal._

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, this is something we've been working on for a little while and we're really excited about it, so hope you all enjoy it so far! It may not be all that exciting yet, but the pace will pick up in the next chapter, which will likely be uploaded within the next week or two. Comments and kudos are much appreciated, let us know what you think!
> 
> ps we love this idea so much we hope you guys love it it's like our little baby omg <3


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